


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by volunteerfd



Category: Battle Royale - All Media Types, Glee
Genre: Crossover, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteerfd/pseuds/volunteerfd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William McKinley High is selected to be part of this year's Program, which means kill or be killed. Some students are better at it than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me With Your Best Shot

My name is Rachel Berry and I do not lose.

I have played the lead role in every school play and musical since elementary school. Fanny Brice, Mrs. Lovett, Linda Loman. One year, we did Fences and guess who played Troy? Well, here’s a hint: it wasn’t that dancer who never talks and it was a very controversial decision. It was me.

Some people call it luck, but I don’t believe in luck. I believe in talent and myself.

None of my classmates believes in talent. Come to think of it, none of my classmates believes in me, either. But that doesn’t matter. I will be a winner without their approval. 

What these children don’t realize is I am saving their lives every year because every year, a random class at a random school is selected to participate in a government-sponsored murder contest. It’s very gauche and, of course, ethically troubling, but until I graduate, William McKinley High will never be put into that Program.

See, my dads are both high-ranking government officials and their daughter could NEVER be put at risk. I am like a rare, precious flower that has to be protected at all costs. My delicate ecosystem is preserved.

So you’re welcome, school. Oh, and thank you for all the slushies and anti-semitic slurs spray-painted on my locker. All the more reason for them to grovel at my feet when I am a world-renowned acting goddess.

It’s sad how many children’s lives are lost to this senseless, tyrannical government tradition. All these kids up against each other, fighting for their lives…it reminds me of show choir, but writ large, of course; there’s no blood in show choir—well, there’s rarely blood—and we can’t die physically, just emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Sometimes I think show choir is even more dangerous than the Program but I don’t voice that opinion to anyone but my dads.

I know what you’re thinking: Rachel, don’t you ever think about what you would do if you were put into that Program? Hypothetically, of course, since everyone thinks about it.

My answer: I am not everyone, so no, I don’t. Hypotheticals are a waste of mental energy. That’s why so many people are dull and sluggish. I prefer to think about, and only think about, tangible, real futures. That Program is not in my future and never will be.

But if you have to know, I thought about it once. I overheard the football players talking about the most recent finale of the Program, talking with their mouths full, spraying bits of meat and bread. One of the contestants had been gifted with a gun, one of the best weapons you could get in the Program. Some poor souls got boomerangs, and this one got a gun. He was all set to win. He just had one final contestant. They were face to face. It was a sure-fire—pardon the pun—victory and he pulled the trigger…

And nothing happened. He’d run out of bullets.

And his competitor had used that moment to…uh…I don’t like to talk about it. It’s very, very crass. But it goes to show that sometimes the best weapon is the element of surprise, sharp fingernails, and your opponent’s vulnerable chest cavity.

I, of course, did not actually see it happen. My dads and I were watching a live-action televised performance of Oklahoma! But it was all everyone else could talk.

“I would have taken that gun and pistol-whipped that bitch, caved his fucking skull in. Who the fuck needs ammo?”

“Karosfky, you’d have stood there with your big dumb mouth open going ‘Duuuuuuh….’” 

“He became too dependent on the gun. He had no idea what to do when he couldn’t use it anymore. It would have happened to anyone.”

“Not to me, Hudson.”

I carefully folded my curried tofu salad sandwich back in its environmentally safe wrapper. Who could have an appetite after that conversation? It could have happened to anyone.

It couldn’t happen to me because I would never be in that position. But what if I was?

My hands were shaking for some stupid reason. Staring down an enemy with a gun. Tearing out someone’s heart. How barbaric. Why would they even talk about such a thing? How could anyone know what they would do in that situation? If I had to…if I was…if I did…

Inhale, exhale. I never got stage fright, because there’s no reason for me to be afraid of performing, but I took three deep singer’s breaths. If I were, hypothetically, even though I never would be, put into the Program, if I, Rachel Berry, had the unthinkable happen to me, and I had to, hypothetically, though it never would happen, kill my classmates in order to survive, I think that I, Rachel Berry…

Would win.


End file.
